


The Ghosts of Our Past

by tinawiththeglasses



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Awkward Romance, Canon Compliant, College, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Instant Attraction, M/M, More or less Canon Compliant, Romance, Story: The Adventure of the Gloria Scott, dog bite to lovers, university romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinawiththeglasses/pseuds/tinawiththeglasses
Summary: A deeper, more intimate insight into the events surrounding Sherlock Holmes' first case.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. The fierce Bull Terrier

**Author's Note:**

> So, technically I wrote most of this story back in 2013, but, having returned to the ACD-Holmes fandom and still being a huge fan of the Gloria Scott, I decided to release a "remake". I've learned a lot about the time the story is set in, expanded my vocabulary, and changed the way I view Holmes as a person.  
> I tried- then and now- to stay as true to canon as I can, only adding little head-canons here and there to fill plot holes etc.  
> Also, I think a lot of this was influenced by an SH-biography I was reading at the time, but more on that later. :)
> 
> Now, without further ado, let's jump into the story! I hope you enjoy! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel. It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days and Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of union when I found that he was as friendless as I."

I am afraid I have not been frank with you, Watson. I must apologise for it.  
How often have you recorded me reprimanding one of our clients for withholding vital information? I have been no better when I told you about the incident involving the Gloria Scott.  
You know about the old Trevor and how he suggested I should take up work as a detective, and about his son, who was my only friend during all of my two years at college, but I never told you about the impact this lad really had upon me.  
For, to quote his father, “of all the ghosts, the ghosts of our loved ones are the worst”.

Believe me, Watson, I had not an easy moment ever since I relayed the whole matter to you a couple of nights ago. So, I write this letter to you, explaining how it really happened, leaving out not a single detail. How can I expect others to be frank with me, when I cannot be frank with you, dear boy, the only one truly deserving to read the full account.  
These writings are for your eyes only, for I trust you with my life.  
I hope that, when you have read it all, you will understand why I have not been able to tell you in person.

I recall my first year of college as being fairly unpleasant.  
Not because I had neither friends nor acquaintances, but for the simple reason that it was a bore. Certainly, there was the thrill of a new beginning, and the ecstasy of study every student experiences during their first months. However, my enjoyment of college life quickly wore off , for, as you are aware, I am a quick learner, and easily tire of any routine.

It was Sunday the 5th of November of the year of 1875. A date I presume, I will remember. The clock was just about to strike nine, I had to hurry to get to the chapel in time. We, the students were expected to be seen partaking mass at least once a week. Although I hardly enjoyed the sermons, I jumped at the opportunity to observe the churchgoers. I had left my room with the utmost hurry, crossed the lawn like lightning and was now pacing down the alleyway which lead down to the small church. So absent-minded was I, I barely heard the man behind me shout,  
“Watch out man! The dog is loose!"  
In the very same instant, I tripped over something soft and furry. (I later found it to be a black and white bull-terrier.)  
Having, of course infuriated the animal, it immediately dug its strong jaws into the nearest part of me, which was; and I think it is rightful to say, luckily only my right ankle.  
Oh the pain, Watson! I cannot remember having felt anything so dreadful ever again. Had I been able to think any more clearly, I would have feared for my leg altogether, such was the agony I was in.  
The owner of the dog approached me; eyes filled with despair and muttering a thousand apologies. He knelt down beside me, onto the snowy ground. I could only hear him, for the sharp pain had forced me to close my eyes. The dog had long returned to its master, whimpering.  
“Dear me! I am so sorry! But you must keep calm and listen to me." his tone changed from apologetic to collected in an instant.  
"My name is Trevor. I am a medical student. I will now stop the bleeding and help you to the infirmary."  
Had it not been for his young age, I should have thought him a practising medic.  
With my jaw being involuntarily clenched in pain, all I could do was to nod; and this I did.

It was quite the effort, getting me to the clinic. The bleeding was held back by only Trevor's scarf. I was only able to hobble my way over with the aid of my new acquaintance. When finally we reached our destination, my foot was quite numb.  
The college-doctor examined my wound, cleaned, disinfected it, and put a proper bandage around it. He then ordered Trevor to see me to my chamber; and myself to not leave it for at least a week.

The first day I spent all on my own, bed bound, turning the thought over and over in my head, whether to telegraph my father in Yorkshire or my brother in London about the accident. At last, I reached the conclusion that my father would hardly care (should my message find him home at all, which was about just as likely). As to my brother, he would most certainly care, but would not move an inch. Besides, what was there for him to do?  
So I lay there, reading, studying all day long, annoyed only at the fact I missed out on some lectures. When the sun was about to sink, I was tired all the same.  
Whether my inability to move was to blame or the morphine I had been given against my pain, I do not know. Both, I should wager.  
When I woke the next morning, I already grew weary at the thought of having to spend another day confined solely to the four walls which made up my room. Fortuitously, some distraction was certain to bless my monotonous existence.  
I had just reached for the book about organic chemistry on my bedside table, when there came a quiet knocking from the direction of the door. It was so timid a sound I thought my imagination was getting the better of me. But when I listened more closely, I was sure that there was somebody standing outside the door. From the second knocking I could deduce my visitor to be a man. Young. A little shorter than myself, but still tall. It therefore could neither be the doctor, nor a nurse. Who else would care to see me at this early hour? I glanced briefly at the clock on my wall. The first classes of the day were about to start. On a Tuesday, that would have been medicine (second year), psychology (final year), philosophy (first year), and art history (also first year)  
"Come in! The door is open!" I cried. In retrospect, I feel rather foolish at the surprise I showed at seeing Victor Trevor enter my room. I should have deduced it from the time table I listed, and from the fact he was the only one who might have an interest in seeing me. I shall put this little blunder of reason down to the effects of the morphine still dulling my senses. My face must have wonderfully reflected my thoughts, for my visitor smiled and blushed a little.  
"Good morning, sir. I have come to apologise, and to see how you are faring."  
"You already have apologised countless times, my good man!" I ejaculated, rather more amicably than necessary. "There is no need for further apologies.”  
"Well, then let me tell you the reason why I haven't come to see you yesterday. This whole mess is my fault after all.”  
I raised one eyebrow, then offered him a seat. He declined, explaining that he would have to leave soon enough anyway. All he did was take off the fine, brown bowler hat he wore on his head, revealing his dark-blonde hair. It was neatly combed and freshly groomed, with only very little product applied to keep it in place.  
As to the colour, his hair was of a formidable golden shade with a distinct hint of orange to it. It was by no means enough to be labelled as ginger, and yet, as the winter-sun illuminated it, his hair resembled the finest, sweetest honey. His eyes I was not able to see at the time, for he wore gold-rimmed spectacles, which also reflected the light. I would later learn that they were of the same rich brown as chocolate, and thus very much befitting the rest of his appearance.  
"Anyway, sir,” said he, “I was not sure whether to visit you, because I was so terribly ashamed by the events. I hope you can forgive me.", he bowed his head slightly. I have to admit, that I was somehow bewildered by these dramatic words. He had helped me when I needed it and thus done his duty. Why, therefore, should I hold any grudge?  
"I hope it calms you to know, that I do not mind all too much." Of course that was a lie. I did mind indeed, but it was not his fault after all, for he had warned me of the animal's escape. But there was something in those kind features which kept me from saying anything which might upset him further. Trevor let out all the air in his lungs at once in a sigh of relief.  
"I cannot thank you enough. This event has put a great strain on me, would you believe?" he chuckled nervously, then looked at his watch.  
"Oh my goodness! I have to dash! Let me apologise again, before I go." He bowed shortly, before he put his hat back onto his head, and hurried out of the room.

After his departure, I was once again convinced I would never set eyes on the fellow again; and again he would prove me wrong for it was the very day after his peculiar visit he returned to my chamber.  
The way in which he knocked had a much more confident ring to it this time, yet I was able to deduce from the height and pattern in which his hand met my door who it was.  
“Come in!” I cried. An instant later, a golden head poked into my chamber.  
"Hullo! It's me again!” He wore a pleasant smile on his face, which I could not help but reflect.  
"I can see that. But please, Mr. Trevor. I too have a name.”  
"Of course. Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”  
With that, he had managed to rouse my curiosity. "You remembered?”  
"Certainly! The doctor mentioned it the other day, and I shall never be able to forget that day as long as I live." He cleared his throat, like a man who is about to say something another might not want to hear. “And...I can read the label of one of your books from here, which gave me your first name.” his smile wavered a little with uncertainty. “Simple, really.”  
Here I must admit that I was stunned. Not a word was I able to utter for twenty seconds at least. Trevor became more and more tense in the duration of the silence, but then visibly relaxed when I spoke again.  
"I-I have to say that this impressed me. Where have you learned to observe?"  
"I haven't learned it per se. It is a mere hobby.” he grabbed a chair and sat down by my bedside. “I have little in common with the other chaps of my year, you see. My observation of others undoubtedly is a result of it.”  
I didn't know what to think. We seemed to have quite a lot in common, which naturally opened many possibilities.  
It is needless to say, that I grew rather excited at the prospect of making a friend, Watson. While I am averse to any social calls or visitors, I am at my best with a companion by my side.  
"Do not worry, I do not think ill of you, for it is clearly what dampens your natural confidence." I could feel an involuntary smile light up my features. Our little conversation reminded me of the games brother Mycroft and I used to play.  
"Did you enjoy your father's visit yesterday? I rather think you did. You have a good relation, but you do not see him as often any more. Quite understandable, as it is a long and tiring journey to Nor-" He stopped me by raising his hand.  
"I am sorry...but-but how can you possibly know all this?! A minute ago I was under the impression you hardly knew my...” He trailed off and I could see the penny dropped. He then looked at me, with so startled an expression I could not help but burst into a fit of loud, hearty laughter. Until this day I do not know what I would have done, hadn't he joined me in it.


	2. Inclinations and inklings

Well, the rest of my confinement passed in a similar fashion, which had been brightened considerably by the prospect of my friend's daily visits. He even took to bringing the very dog which had bitten me with him. It was quite right, for we mutually agreed on it.   
Every time he came to visit, I learned more about him- be it by means of communication, or by means of deduction.  
By the time I was able to walk again, I was quite certain of our companionship, and even allowed myself to rely on it to some extent by having him carry my books for me while I was still walking by the crutch. I was glad my healing did not deter him from interacting with me. Our chats in my room turned into walks in the park, and nights in the library. As it turned out, he even shared my athletic interests to some extent. While fencing very much excited him, he preferred to watch me in the ring rather than partake in it.  
In hindsight, I understand his reasons. All those men, tightly clad and sweating; the intimate contact. It must have brought him great joy.  
Then came the moment which would seal not only our friendship, but a much more intimate bond.  
Here is another thing I never had the heart to tell you, dear John. Up until the moment I met Victor, I had never really thought about romance. As a boy it was as clear to me as it is to any other, that I would one day marry a woman and start a family. I was never very fond of the idea, mind you, but neither was I averse to it. It was simply a fact of life.  
When I grew old enough to form my own opinions on life, I adopted the idea that women- and thus romance- were not for me. A third and final change of mind came upon me during the process of getting to know Trevor. It was, that neither marriage nor solitude were really an option for me, but that men were the object of my deeper desires.  
I was never as concerned about the fact than I should perhaps be. I cannot help it. Why fret about something that does not worry me? I can keep a secret, and having loved only two men in my life, both of the noblest character, I have never had reason to believe either of you would break my trust.  
There was only ever one occasion this proclivity of mine has posed a threat. Perhaps I will one day write you another letter outlining those events, but for now, I should progress with the story at hand.

Ah, I will never forget the day I explained Trevor the human arteries by his own books! There was more laughter than study that afternoon. It was only one of many such days. With regret, I think back to those hours, for it is over now. It would be the most shameful lie to say that I am not happy now. On the contrary! We have built a home at Baker Street; one filled with warmth and loyalty without reserve; one where I am quite certain we will grow old together.  
Do you remember your first love? I am most certain you do. It is not something anyone would forget, and that is good- for those loves are not made to last, but to learn from.  
I was an oblivious young man, Watson. Rather like you, before we decided to deepen our companionship. All of my skills; all of my observation was wasted then, as I failed to read the signs. By Jove, the signs! He could not have made it more obvious. I wish I had recognised them sooner, for had I done so, I would have had more time to give back to him. But, as I said, first loves are lessons to learn, and learn I did.  
Well, there is little more to say about this matter, because it should be clear by now, which turn of events came upon us, some three months later. The snow was long gone, and Trevor and I had become inseparable, even before the first flower dared to push its head through the muddy ground.

"Have you any plans for the oncoming holiday?" he asked one foggy evening in early spring. We were sat in front of a fire in his room, enjoying a cigarette.  
"No, Trevor, I do not. You know I have no where to go.”  
“What about your brother?”  
“What about him?”  
“Don't you wish to see him? Go down to London?”  
“I have no intentions of doing anything of the sort.”  
“Ah.” said he listlessly, but I could tell something was boiling beneath the surface. “Neither do I.”  
"We shall spend this next week together, I presume?", said I with equal feigned languor, releasing the smoke from my lungs. Trevor nodded. My heart leaped with secret joy.  
"So, have you any idea what we should do then? I take it you would rather go to London?"

He shook his head. "We should stay here. I think it would be the best thing to do..."  
"If you wish.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Admittedly, London is very unpleasant in this dreary, cold weather.

It were the words he now said, that changed everything.  
"It is not the cold which troubles me..."  
I looked at him; my heart pounding so loudly I was certain he must have heard. I knew what he was about to say.  
"...it is the fear of parting with you, Holmes."  
I said I knew what he was about to say, yet when the words left his mouth, it was as if I were hit by a freight train. Overcome by an oppressing feeling of uncertainty, I suddenly longed for clarity. What if my own feelings had blinded me to the truth and it was nothing more than intimate friendship on his side?  
"Part with me?” I am afraid my sudden outburst of fear sharpened my tone. “If there is something you wish to tell me, you must express yourself clearly.”  
"There is not much I can add to express myself any clearer than that, Holmes!” he snapped. He grew restless, considered standing up for a moment, but decided against it. In the end, he plucked up his courage and looked at me with the face of a man who is about to come clean, no matter the cost. “I hate to part with you. I am very fond of you, and it pains me to the bone to leave you. After all, you are my only friend in this whole wretched place...and more than that.”  
There it was, the clarity I had so eagerly longed for.


	3. Budding pansies

I mentioned before how I failed to read the signs of intimate affection Victor displayed toward me. Well, I failed, in the very same way, to correctly interpret my own response to it.  
You are, I should think, very much aware of those symptoms, for your own presence have had me more than once at their mercy. There is the inability to focus entirely on my work (which I dread the most out of all of them) the increased heartbeat, and, if I am not much mistaken, your favourite- my unusually high spirits.  
Had Victor not opened my eyes to myself, I would have been certain those were the symptoms of something much graver.  
Needless to say, I was dumbfounded. Not only had he just proclaimed his feelings toward me, he had shown me a new part of myself at the same time. Somewhere in the back of my mind suspicion might have arisen, but if that was really so, it was really his confession which brought them forward into my consciousness.  
Victor had likely mistaken my baffled silence for rejection, for his brow clouded and in an instant he was on his feet. His hot-blooded nature and intelligence made it impossible for him to revoke what he had just said.  
"I am a raging invert, Holmes; a pansy; a-" I cut him off. I had no choice, otherwise I feel he would have combusted with sheer anxious energy.  
"So am I."  
There they were, those three words which uncovered that innermost truth- spoken with such quiet surprise I hardly recognised my own voice.  
Victor stopped in his tracks with a look of astonishment on his face. I could only imagine the plethora of emotions he went through from the moment he revealed himself to me.  
For my own part, I can but outline my own feelings: anticipation – comprehension – surprise – relief.  
There was no way back now. I had said it; but I knew with the very core of my being it was right. It allowed me to put into action all the plans I had spun in my mind for Trevor and I. All those fantasies, thought up by the innocent mind of a lad of twenty; a lad who had previously found no joy in romance, and had just begun to dream.  
Nothing has ever cost me much-needed sleep like love, Watson. Certainly, I have worked my health to bits at times, by refusing to rest until a case is solved (if the problem requires it, that is). Therefore the nights when I lose sleep over something as trifling as love are especially irksome to me.  
It mattered little then however, as I was but a student with nothing to fill my time than my own studies and Victor, so the only real downside to those sleepless hours was my diurnal fatigue.  
The things I imagined, Watson! Merely reminiscing about it makes me laugh. And yet, when my friend was gone at night, I brought him back by means of imagination. How happy I was, dreaming away in my lonely chamber! To think I was such an innocent, oblivious boy! I wanted to travel the world with him, buy a London town house just for the two of us where Victor could open a practice in the lower quarters, and I could keep bees on the roof of the building. But with our staff, my hobbies, and his practice- where were we to sleep? Surely there would only be one bedroom left then.  
Can you see the point of my digression, dear fellow?

"You are?" my companion asked.  
"Quite so. Although, admittedly my theory needs some more testing." My tone, while still rather low, had regained some of its suavity.  
A smile returned to his handsome face, his chestnut eyes glistening with hope.  
"Well, if that is so, Holmes, will you allow me to be your guinea pig?"  
I too rose to my feet to be nearer him, and together we stood, drowning in each other's eyes; hands almost touching.  
"Don't be so dramatic..." said I at last, with, what you would call, a soft twinkle in my eye. "But if you really mean it...there is one little experiment I should like to conduct right away."  
We were standing so close now, I could feel his hot breath against my skin.  
"And...what would that be...?"  
All the hairs on my body stood upright in an instant, and my heart beat even faster than before. I was as thrilled as I was frightened.  
No reply was necessary. It was but a game. I proceeded to press my lips against his with the innate daintiness all first kisses hold.  
I closed my eyes as by some strange reflex and allowed myself to simply feel- and feel I did.


End file.
